


Rabbit Stew

by semperaugustus



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Angst, Coughing, Gen, Potatoes, broship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperaugustus/pseuds/semperaugustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tumblr prompt: "Raistlin saves a bunny from being killed for dinner."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabbit Stew

**Author's Note:**

> I'm throwing myself into the Dragonlance fandom (what there is of it) with abandon. So here, after about a decade of DL geeking, is my inaugural fic in the setting. All credit for the prompt goes to shemightbeagiant on tumblr. There are a fair amount of references to the Soulforge/Brothers in Arms in here, and you should totally read those books if you haven't already. Happy reading!

“Did you hear that?”

Raistlin repressed a sigh of irritation and looked up from his spellbook, muscles in his neck and shoulders twanging painfully as the young mage shifted positions for the first time in nearly an hour. Caramon, who had been carefully working the nicks from the blade of his sword not a moment before, had set the whetstone down and was now aiming a wary look at a point somewhere beyond their small circle of firelight.

Raistlin followed his brother’s gaze, squinting against the glare of their fire. There was no sign of movement amongst the dark trees that surrounded them, but after a moment he heard the sound that had surely attracted Caramon’s attention: a faint rustling, too soft to belong to even the quietest kender.

He turned back to Caramon, who grinned at him. _Dinner_ , his twin mouthed, reaching for the dagger at his belt.

Raistlin replied with a curt nod, irritated at the pointless interruption. _I should have expected as much_ , he thought sourly, returning his attention to his spellbook. _Nothing holds Caramon’s attention quite like the prospect of his next meal_. Despite himself, though, he found his eyes drifting, drawn to the edge of the clearing as the noises of some small creature’s approach grew gradually louder. Caramon leaned forward, knife held at the ready between forefinger and thumb; he had spent most of that spring trying to perfect his throwing arm, and nowadays he was as good as most of the men in their company. Raistlin doubted that their dinner would have much of a chance to escape.

As the two brothers watched--Caramon attentively, Raistlin with grudging interest--a small shape broke off from the larger shadows of the trees and entered the clearing. The flickering light of the fire picked out the animal’s features: small dark eyes, long ears twitching nervously. A rabbit.

It sat there for a long moment, nose twitched as it stared at the brothers from the very edge of the clearing. Raistlin, braced for the whistle of Caramon’s dagger, cast a surprised look at his twin. Caramon was still leaning forward, face intent. _He wants it to come closer_ , Raistlin realized. _His aim is worse in the darkness_.

The rabbit seemed blissfully unaware of its fate, even as light glinted from the edge of the upraised knife. It took another small hop forward, bright eyes focused on the twins with an air of innocent curiosity.

Caramon continued to stay his hand, but Raistlin saw his figure tense slightly. One more hop would likely spell the rabbit’s demise.

Odd as it was, Raistlin felt a small pang of guilt as he watched the rabbit survey its surroundings. He had always left the business of hunting to Caramon on their infrequent trips across the countryside, and even then the rabbits they had eaten had been trapped in snares, dead before they made it to the cooking fire.

This one was still alive and young by the look of it, hardly into adulthood. Soon it would be dead--target practice for his oafish brother, and then yet another stew in the endless series of stews that had sustained them for this past month on the road. Another dead rabbit mattered little in the scheme of things, but all the same, it struck him as a pointless death.

Raistlin sneered at his own sentimentality but, traitorously, the guilt remained. He had kept a rabbit, back before the test, before they had ever left Solace. A rabbit, and mice... long dead, of course, thanks to old age and the neighbor’s cat.

He wondered for a moment if he’d ever be spared the sight of death again, and cursed himself for the thought. There was a painful tightness in his chest. _Another coughing fit coming on_ , he thought, frowning. _No more of this maudlin nonsense_.

He glanced over at Caramon. His twin was solemn, wearing a look of intense concentration that was a rare sight on the cheerful young man’s face. Caramon seemed to be suffering none of his brother’s guilt. Caramon was, after all, a soldier; while Raistlin stood on the sidelines, hurling fireballs at distant figures, Caramon had killed men who had been close enough to touch.

It was amazing, really; how did one reconcile Caramon the cheerful buffoon with Caramon the disciplined killer? Raistlin sometimes wondered if there were depths to his twin brother that even he had yet to glimpsed. It was a notion he didn’t care for. Privately, he thought that Caramon was simply too thick-skulled to feel the impact of having taken another’s life.

In any case, Raistlin doubted that the death of a single rabbit would trouble his brother unduly.

The rabbit had remained still for nearly a minute now, the twitching of its nose and ears its only movements. Perhaps it was comforted by the warmth of the fire, or entranced by the dancing flames; whatever the case, it was beginning to stir, its posture suddenly alert.

Slowly, the rabbit raised itself from the ground and took a tentative hop towards the Majere brothers...

...and Raistlin burst into a ragged fit of coughing, loud enough to make the rabbit start in fear and dash out of the clearing in several long, graceful bounds. Raistlin, bent in agony, heard the thump of his brother’s dagger as it whirred through the air and buried itself in the packed earth of the clearing.

“Damn it!” Caramon muttered, and then rushed over to his brother’s side.

“Raist?” Raistlin felt a large hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t need to look up to know that Caramon was staring at him with worried eyes.

“Tea...” he choked out, the coughs slowly subsiding into harsh gasps as his body sought desperately to draw in air.

“Of course, yeah...just a minute...” Caramon said, and the hand on Raistlin’s shoulder retreated as the larger man walked over to their packs and began to rummage around for the kettle.

Raistlin shut his eyes, trying to regain control over his breathing. Each heave of his chest sent a jolt of agony skittering across his ribs; he could do little but grit his teeth against the pain.

Caramon, upending his water skin into the kettle, gave a loud sigh and frowned in the direction of the rabbit’s departure. “I know you can’t help it, Raist,” he said, voice mournful, “but I sure wish that rabbit hadn’t spooked. I’m starving.”

Raistlin smiled, a small, secret quirk of the lips obscured by the shadow of his hood. “I know, my brother,” he said, the words rasping painfully from his raw throat. “But we’ll have dinner yet. Are we out of potatoes?”

“No,” Caramon said, casting a rueful glance at his pack. “We still have a few. That’s about all we’ve got left, though.”

“That should be more than enough,” Raistlin replied, and the rare note of amusement tinging his voice was enough to make Caramon look up in surprise. “I’ve been thinking...and I believe I’ve figured out what spices Otik uses in his potatoes...”


End file.
